


Jane Doe

by lildark7



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Needles, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-05-02 20:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14552517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildark7/pseuds/lildark7
Summary: Jane Doe was found with only a pint of blood left in her. Foul play suspected.This is not a redemption story.Can be read without knowledge of the plot of game.If you're looking for a short story about a murderer, you've come to the right place.





	1. Jane Doe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sunfreckle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/gifts).



> This short story is dedicated to Sunfreckle (Moonfreckle), as a thank you gift for her story 'The Secrets in the Blood.' I highly recommend anyone to check it out. It's a wonderful piece of work.  
> WARNINGS: Blood, needles, character death, psychological abuse\torture.  
> This was one of the most emotionally draining things I have ever written. I did not expect this to be so hard. I hope everyone who's reading the short enjoys it. I put my heart and soul into this piece. And I hope the feelings I wanted to convey with it will come across. This is not a redemption story. This piece is, in my opinion, pretty fucked up. Reader discretion is advised.  
> Can be read without knowledge of the plot of the game.  
> I did my best to research everything, to make it as accurate as I possibly could. If there are factual errors, my apologies. This is still a work of fiction though, so I hope you can enjoy it even if there are any.

Vandal Cleaver ran the blood bank together with a bloke called Phil Flabottomus. Flabottomus. The name was so ridiculous. Someone needed to put an end to this bloodline's continuation. Sooner or later, he would do that guy in. Work accident. Tragic, but not to be helped.  
Vandal wasn't a people person at all, and Phil was a particular pain to be around. He hated the guy. So deeply.  
The personnel from upstairs had gotten rid of him and stuck him with Vandal about a month ago. He had not been happy about this at all. Until then, he had run the blood bank alone and he had been quite content with that. The only good thing about having Phil around was that it was now easier to go out and hunt for donors. While he was gone, he could make Phil man the reception.  
Phil wasn't the most intelligent of people either. He was rather forgetful and had the attention span of a goldfish. His morals were somewhere in the darker gray areas, which had come in handy. He had little problems with the work they were doing here. The thing he was most scared of, was getting caught. Also, he was kind of insecure and easily intimidated, and Vandal had made use of that more than once already.  
Vandal sat in front of the computer in his small booth and let out a frustrated breath. It had been about an hour since he had had his last customer. A Toreador guy who had straight up lied to his face when he had asked him if he could look him in the eyes and tell him that he had never killed anyone. The guy had been so adamant about the fact that he didn't need to kill to feed, that he had had to question him. Vandal had seen the truth though. He always knew when people lied to him. He could see it in their eyes as well as smell it on their breaths.  
Fucking liars. Liars were something that Vandal hated even more than morons. People in particular who lied about their true nature and to themselves he despised more than anything. He hated all those kindred who came in to buy blood, with those innocent looks on their faces. Denying that they would put the bag to their lips and gulp the warm liquid down like water on a hot day.  
How he wished he could burn them all. All those filthy bloodsuckers that he detested with every fiber of his being and at the same time had the utmost respect for. They were predators, perfect killing machines with a thousands of years old curse running through their veins. And his. Only that he 'wasn't' perfect. He was fallible. Still human. Imperfect. And he was a slave.  
He felt the anger rise inside him. Yes, he was stronger, faster than a normal human, healed quicker and he didn't age, but still. He was bound to the bitch that owned him. He had to do whatever she demanded, no matter what it was. For the rest of time. He would never be free unless the queen bitch was destroyed and he knew that that day, or well, night would never come.  
And to her, he was a tool, easily discarded if he lost his usefulness. He had been tricked. He hated it. He hated the world. And now he needed to go out and make someone suffer and feel his pain, his rage. And he would 'enjoy' it.  
The blood bank needed new donors frequently and he went out at least once or twice a week to get someone to part with all their blood. Tonight was no different. The only difference was that he now also wanted to cause someone immense agony, be it psychological or physical, he hadn't decided yet. Probably a bit of both.  
He stood up and grabbed his knife and a stun gun for emergencies. He remembered that he had been picked up by the police with both of them once after an incident where a local woman had reported him for stalking her. He also remembered how furious Therese had been that she'd had to hire a lawyer for him to clean the mess up. They had wanted to sentence him for assault with intent to do bodily harm, but his lawyer had been a miracle worker. They had given him only a restraining order in the end. He had talked them down in a matter of hours and Vandal had been free to go. He had learned to be more careful after that. It had been the only incident in all his time.  
He opened the door to his booth and barked for Phil who was god knew where. "Phil! Come here! I need to go out to get more special sauce!" His voice was already deep and kind of unpleasant to listen to, but when he was angry it was downright creepy. Vandal knew how to use it as well. He was very good at it. He had perfected that particular art.  
Phil came out of a room to his right. He had dark blond hair and amber eyes. He was taller than Vandal, but also skinnier. He came down the hall and avoided Vandal's gaze as he spoke, "Sure thing. I'll keep the post occupied." He was about to walk past Vandal, but he blocked his way with his arm.  
"Tell me again, how much for a bag of our sanguine spirits?" he questioned Phil in a tone that made it clear that he would love it if the edge in his voice could actually cut into flesh.  
Phil was close to stammering when he answered, "It was 90 bucks. I think?"  
Vandal wanted to tear his head off. That had been before the bitch had raised the prices. It had been a week since then. A week. "It's 99 dollars, Phil," Vandal hissed. "You've already forgotten that Miss Voerman raised the prices? Write a post it and stick it under the window. If I come back and find that you sold even a single bag for the old price, I will personally inform the bitch about this!"  
"I will. 99 dollars. I'll remember. I'm sorry, Vandal," Phil spoke meekly.  
Vandal glared at him. Phil's eyes were still cast to the floor. This was also something that he hated. People not meeting his gaze. Especially when he was speaking to them. People hiding from his brilliant blue eyes. He felt like they were disrespecting him by not looking at him. They were shying away from showing him their emotions, their reactions to his words and actions. He could read a person's face like an open book; he could read between the lines and use everything he found there to his advantage. He could see their souls in their eyes.  
He removed his hand from the other side of the door frame and growled, "Get in. I'll be back in an hour and I don't want to be disturbed in the back room with the donor when I arrive. I will take back over when I'm done."  
Phil entered and Vandal left, shutting the door to the booth behind him a bit louder than necessary.  
He would go to the Asylum. He often got donors there. He would make sure that he found someone suitable. Someone with good blood. Yes. The last few times he had had to pull some vagrants off the streets. He was not allowed to spill any in the Asylum. The bitch didn't appreciate blood being spilled in her club. If there was a fight, Big Cal made sure to throw the rabble out.  
Vandal grabbed his jacket on the way upstairs. He put his switchblade in his left pocket and the stun gun into the inside pocket of it.  
It was cold outside. He saw his own breath condense as he breathed out slowly. He was collecting himself, expelling most of the anger he felt. It would not help him when he was hunting. He would find it again when he was back, well hidden away in the blood bank with his guest.  
He went through the back alleys and entered the club. He prayed in silence that Jeanette wasn't present. He couldn't stand Therese's sister. She was completely insane.  
He scanned the room. At this time of night there were a lot of people to choose from. Cal was serving a well dressed young guy in a red velvet shirt. There was a group of friends huddled in a corner, quite a few people on the dance floor and a sparse amount sitting at the bar. He decided to check upstairs. It was usually easier to find people willing to talk up there than down on the first floor.  
He had no luck however. The only 2 people upstairs were a couple having an argument. So he went for the bar.  
He observed the people sitting at it. He always did this to get a feeling for his prey. He watched for quite a while before he knew who to take. His eyes had fallen on the young woman sitting on the far left side. Alone. She was all alone here. He knew.  
The other people he had watched had looked around the club, pointed at people or had friends come over from the dance floor. This one however, hadn't. She was sitting there, almost unmoving, sipping a glass of coke. That was going to be the last drink she would ever have.  
He smiled to himself. This was going to be easy. She would be grateful for someone to come over and talk to her. He would trap her like a Venus flytrap. He had learned how to get people to do what he wanted. He had learned how to be inviting just to snap shut at the right moment.  
He took in her appearance. She was hiding herself behind a straight cut bangs that reached her eyes. The rest of her hair was chest long. It was dishwater blond. She wore no makeup and was dressed in simple jeans and a sweater.  
Vandal slowly walked over. He noticed she was wearing a watch. Wonderful.  
He put his best smile onto his lips and as he neared her he took a deep breath. Not to calm himself, no. He wanted to smell her. Yes. Yes. She was good. Pure. She was perfect.  
He stepped closer and stopped at the stool next to her, leaning in. She had sensed him and turned.  
Vandal read her face in seconds. She was smiling at him with friendly reservation. Her eyes were pretty. A very unique shade of blue and green mixed together. Almost a shame they wouldn't be looking at him anymore in a short time from now.  
"Excuse me, Miss," he said, making his voice sound warm and relaxed. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my phone died. Do you know what time it is? I'm on break at the moment and I would hate to return late."  
She checked her watch and told him, "It's 1:15 AM."  
He nodded his thanks and kept speaking, "Ah, wonderful. My thanks. Then I have about half an hour still."  
She wanted to talk. He saw it in her face. He saw the hesitation as well. She wanted to ask him to join her. If she didn't in the next 5 seconds, he would do it for her.  
"Where do you work? If you don't mind me asking."  
Vandal was pleased. This was going so well. He moved his right hand to the back of his neck for a few seconds pretending to massage out some tension as he spoke, "I work at the blood bank just a short walk from here. Night shifts are kind of boring. Nothing ever happens."  
He had caught her attention with that. She was interested and now she finally asked, "Would you like to join me before you have to go back?"  
He gave her another warm smile, "Of course. I would love to. I work the shift alone most of the time. I was in luck that I had a colleague present tonight so we could each take a break." He paused for a moment before resuming. He quickly checked her face again. She was still smiling but now there was a genuine curiosity in her. "So, why are you here alone? Are you new in town?"  
She nodded. "I don't really know anyone yet. I just moved here a few days ago. I thought going to the club was a good place to meet new people. I'm kind of shy though, so... I'm glad you asked me for the time."  
Vandal was inwardly laughing. That was just so poetic. The first person she had met would also be her last.  
"Me too. It seems like your plan is working out well, so far." He sat down on the stool next to her, leaning onto one of his arms on the counter and slightly turning towards her. "From where did you move here?" he wanted to know.  
"From Las Vegas," she said. "I needed a change." It was all she said. Vandal sensed that she didn't really want to talk about it. She was redirecting the conversation to him. "What do you do at the blood bank during a night shift? Do you even have people come in to donate at night?"  
"A few," he lied. Nobody ever came in at night other than to buy blood or to completely part with it. Quite unwillingly. "Have you ever donated before?"  
She shook her head. "I know my blood type though. I got blood transfusions as a baby."  
This was good. He could talk her into coming with him. He wouldn't even have to force her. She would come willingly. He would get what he wanted.  
"Ever thought about giving blood before?" he casually inquired. Then he added, "Your donation could save a life, you know. I'm sure it already saved yours. Why not return the favor a stranger did you?"  
Another flicker of hesitation crossed over her face. She sighed and told him, "I had thought about it. I had just never gotten around to actually do it."  
This was one of the best nights he'd had in a long time. This girl was a godsent gift to him. "A shame. It only takes a few minutes and it's almost painless." He wanted to know her name. It would help. If he had her name it would bring him closer to her. "By the way. I'm Vandal," he introduced himself. He slightly leaned towards her as he did so and turned a bit more on his stool. He gave her a friendly smile.  
He saw the happiness in her eyes. She thought she had just made a potential friend. "I'm Jane. Jane Doe. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."  
"The pleasure is mine, Jane," Vandal said. "Last name's Cleaver, not that that matters, or anything."  
She laughed. The sound was not unpleasant to his ears. A pity he would only get to hear that once or twice as well.  
"Vandal Cleaver? Your name sounds like you're quite the thug. I don't think it fits you. No offense. But you seem like such a nice guy," Jane spoke.  
How wrong she was. How very, very wrong. Stupid thing had to pick the worst night to go out. That was just bad luck. For her anyway.  
Vandal smiled, "How very kind of you to say. Thank you. You also seem like a very nice young lady." He was flattering her on purpose. He knew he didn't need to, but it would make the stab in the back hurt all the more later.  
"Thank you," Jane merrily spoke.  
"You're welcome," he told her. He eyed her glass again. "Do you drink at all, or only in company?"  
The second laugh was more gentle than the first. "I don't really drink at all."  
If he could, Vandal would have sold her blood for twice the going rate. She was glorious.  
"Neither do I. I kind of dislike the idea of drinking my control away." This was not a lie. He really did.  
"Interesting," Jane spoke. "Do you smoke?"  
He smirked. "Take a guess." He was enjoying himself already. All her answers were worth gold to him.  
Jane thought for a moment before answering him. "No. I think you don't. And if you do, only occasionally."  
She was good. She probably had concluded that because she didn't smell any cigarette smoke on him. "You are correct. I don't. How about you?" He didn't need to ask, but he did anyway.  
"Me neither."  
For a few moments, both of them were quiet. Vandal noted that Jane seemed quite comfortable in his company so far. Now it was time to get her to the blood bank. He let the silence stretch for a bit longer, to see if she would try to fill it with more talking. She didn't. It was a good sign.  
"I should probably go back in a few minutes," Vandal started. He let out a sigh. It made Jane look at him again. He was careful to hesitate before he continued. He averted his eyes for a few seconds, before he looked back at her again. "I was wondering..." He trailed off. "Ah, no it's probably a stupid idea." He ran a hand through his hair.  
He had piqued her curiosity. "What is it?" She was leaning in without realizing it. He could smell her more strongly now.  
He let out a nervous chuckle and made his voice sound a bit smaller when he told her, "Well, I was wondering if you would like to come with me, to make a donation. It really doesn't take long and you said you had thought about it... It's all right if you don't want to. Like I said, it's kind of a stupid idea..." She was taking the bait. He could see it.  
"I think it's a great idea, Vandal," she said. "I don't have anything else to do tonight anyway."  
The irony. The sweet, sweet irony of it all. Vandal had to force himself not to laugh. Jane would definitely not be doing anything else tonight. He would make sure of that.  
He let out a false sigh of relief. "That's really nice of you, Jane. I'm glad you didn't think of it as too weird. I could introduce you to my co-worker. That way you'd already have met two people tonight."  
She was downright eager to come with him now. The prospect of meeting new people was exciting her.  
"And in return, you helped me make my shift a bit less dreary." This time, his smile was wide enough to show teeth. He forced it to reach his eyes.  
"That sounds wonderful!" Yes. She was very happy with the turn of events. He was too. Immensely so.  
He would not immediately leave with her. He would wait a bit. Otherwise it would be suspicious. "What time is it now?"  
She checked again. "We got 15 minutes before your break is over," she let him know.  
It was already 'we'. This wonderfully naive thing. So trusting. So easily manipulated. "Then we can hang here for another 5 minutes. We'll have more than enough time to walk over to the clinic."  
"All right." Jane continued drinking her coke. "I'm not sure if I'm scared of needles. The last time I got a shot was at like 10 years old."  
"Well, do you remember if it bothered you back then?"  
She shook her head. "No."  
"I have quite a lot of donors who can watch on others, but not themselves. Even some of our medical staff has that problem," he chatted on. "It's probably best to not look, just as a precaution. Wouldn't want you to faint in the chair."  
She giggled. "Thanks for the advice."  
"You're welcome."  
He talked with her some more getting as much information as he could on her. She hadn't even introduced herself to the neighbors in her new home yet. She had been busy unpacking.  
She kept glancing at her watch, and when it was time for them to leave, Jane said, "Lead the way."  
Vandal stood up. "I can see you're quite eager to get going, actually. It's refreshing to see someone excited at the prospect of doing a good deed." It was exciting to see someone walk willingly to their own doom, is what he thought.  
He did not lead her through the back alleys. He took her through the main streets and told her a bit about Phil. "He's a nice guy," he lied. As much as he hated liars, he himself thought it was quite okay to lie to someone to get them to do what you wanted. At least, 'he' wasn't lying about himself, or to himself about what he really was. A murderer at heart. He thought about his previous statement. It hadn't even been a complete lie. He thought that some people probably thought that Phil was a nice guy. Jane here would probably think it. It was just that he himself could hardly stand anyone at all. "He's a bit shy, I guess, but that's okay. He doesn't really talk much, even with me, and he's been working down at the blood bank for a good month now. He seems like he takes quite some time to open up to people. He's quite nervous around me, now that I think of it." Yeah. For good reason, Vandal continued internally.  
"He sounds sweet. I'm looking forward to meeting him in a minute," Jane smiled.  
Vandal wondered if this fragile little thing would even put up a fight once he was starting to drain her.  
"I'm glad you'll get to meet him," he said, his voice even. Before you die, he added in his mind. The thought of Jane meeting this imbecile as the second new person she'd ever see amused him.  
When they turned the corner the medical clinic came into view.  
"It's a bit smaller than the one near me in Vegas was," Jane noted.  
"I can imagine," Vandal approved her statement. "We'll go into the back. No need to piss off Paige at the reception." He casually added, "She hates it when I do that. Always yelling at me to use the 'official' entrance to the blood bank. I quote her, 'It's there for a reason, Vandal!'" He let out a soft laugh. "Pity they had the genius idea to put that door into the back alley. It's no wonder we don't get too many donors. It looks suspicious, don't you think?"  
She followed him without any second thoughts. "I don't know, maybe a bit. You should put a sign up front that the entrance is around the back," she suggested.  
"We already requested that. Got turned down for some reason, unfortunately," he sighed. "Well, can't be helped."  
He held the door open for her. "After you. It's downstairs."  
"Thanks. Such a gentleman," Jane spoke as she took the stairs to her demise.  
Phil and him had come to the agreement that if Vandal brought in donors who were still conscious he would play the shy guy so he wouldn't have to talk much. Vandal knew he would forget any lines he fed him anyway. It had always worked out so far. And Phil didn't really need to act that way either.  
He walked down the hall next to Jane and stopped in front of the donation window, happily telling Phil, "Hi, Phil. This is Jane. She's here to donate. Thanks again for coming in tonight. Break was lovely." He turned to Jane. "Jane, as you already knew. This is Phil."  
She smiled at him. "Hey, Phil. It's good to meet you."  
"Good to meet you too." The smile he returned looked a bit strained. Vandal had immediately noticed. But Jane didn't seem to pick up on that.  
"How about I take your blood and after, we can all have a chat?" Vandal wanted to know.  
"Of course." She waved at Phil and said, "See you in a bit."  
Phil nodded. "See ya."  
Vandal opened the door to the back, let Jane walk through and closed it again. He was going to give her a tour before he started. Just to have a bit of fun.  
"I'll show you around. You up for it?" He was acting as if he was already her friend.  
"Sure!"  
He told her a bit about the clinic and let her know that the downstairs held only a laundry, two additional offices and the freezers. He left out the morgue on purpose. He stopped in front of the door to the back room and spoke, "I don't want you to freak out, when we get in there. This hospital has a psychiatric ward on the third floor, and we sometimes need to take blood from patients suffering from Schizophrenia and the like. It's for testing. Some of them have violent tendencies, won't hold still and would end up hurting themselves. It's not great, but we have to restrain their arms while we're taking their blood. We once had an incident where a patient had broken off a needle in his arm."  
Jane grimaced at the sound of that. "That's unfortunate."  
She was buying his every word. She was believing everything he said.  
"Again, it doesn't look nice. The chairs have a certain ominous air about them. They're horrible. I really wish they weren't needed at all." The lies flowed from his lips like honey.  
Jane wasn't fazed by the prospect of restraining chairs. Stupid thing. She should be running by now. She should at least have been suspicious. So much blind trust and belief in the good will of people needed to be extinguished. Would be extinguished. He would revel in it. "It's all right. Thank you for the warning though. It's very considerate of you."  
"Of course," he said comfortingly. "I wouldn't want my new acquaintance to think ill of my workplace."  
It got a giggle out of her.  
He entered before her and she followed, taking in the room.  
They had cleaned it up just last night. It looked almost like a normal hospital room, except for the two chairs with the restraints on them.  
"You were right to warn me about this," Jane said. "Looks like I stepped into a strange alternate reality where time is a bit muddled."  
Vandal grinned. "Do you like fantasy or sci-fi films? Or are you a reader?" He gestured to one of the chairs and smiled. "Have a seat. I'll prepare the equipment. Would you like me to explain what I'm doing?" Please, say yes.  
Jane sat down and replied, "I'm a reader. And yes. I love fantasy and science fiction." She watched as Vandal opened some drawers and pulled out a tourniquet, sterilized needle, tube and a blood bag. He also had a collection tube. "I would be interested in knowing what you're doing, yes."  
Vandal actually loved his work. He had always taken joy in watching the blood run out of the living. He held up the small collection tube with the needle attached to it. "This is the sample we'll send in for testing just to make sure the information on your birth certificate is valid." He put on gloves and disinfected his hands. He took the disinfectant, tourniquet and the tube and moved towards her. She was looking a slight bit nervous now. "I'll be careful. The sting is very brief."  
"Thank you, Vandal."  
He tied the tourniquet and calmly told Jane, "Put your arm on the arm rest. I need to find a good vein. I don't want to have to poke you twice." She did and he ran his index finger over it, feeling for a soft, spongy vein. He had found one within a few seconds. It brought a smile on his face. He disinfected the area and got the tube. "Are you ready, Jane?" he asked. Ready to start dying. Ready for the end. Ready to go to sleep forever.  
She nodded. "I'm ready." She was suddenly tense.  
"Relax," he spoke softly. "There's nothing to be scared of. It's just a tiny prick of the needle. You'll see, it's really not so bad. You're more scared of it than you need to be."  
She let out a long breath. He hovered the needle over her arm. She turned her head away and even closed her eyes. She was so delightful to watch. "Don't tell me when you're doing it," she said to him.  
Afraid of a tiny needle. For a split second the smile on his face turned cruel.  
"I want you to take a very long, very deep breath now," he said gently. He placed his thumb above the puncture area so the vein wouldn't roll away. "Go ahead. I'm not going to tell you when I'm puncturing it." He saw her breathe in and just two seconds in, he drove the needle through her skin. Her reaction was almost imperceptible. "Done."  
"That's it?" she sounded surprised and relieved at the same time. "That was hardly worth getting worked up about."  
He chuckled. "I told you the pain's minor." She was looking at him, and avoiding looking at the tube in her arm. "Don't you want to look?" He lowered his eyes and watched the blood run into it. "Now that it's in I'm not too worried you'll faint. It's usually just the process of watching the skin break that makes people pass out."  
Jane looked at the tube. She thought it was kind of fascinating to get to look at her own blood running out of her in a controlled way. She had not cut or hurt herself since she was very little. She had never gotten to see it.  
"Mesmerizing, isn't it?" Vandal asked. "So much life in a bit of liquid. So much power. I'm happy I get to bag your life force to save someone else with it." Another lie. He was only happy to drain it. Only happy to watch the life run out of her and then see her fed to one of the bloodsuckers. She would never save a human's life unless he chose to put a bag or two of her into the hospital's supplies. He had the power to choose if she would ever save anyone, or if she would just end up someone's dinner. It was so, so satisfying.  
"You have a very intriguing way of saying things. I quite like it," Jane told him.  
"Thanks." He glanced at her before he said, "Tube's almost full." A few more seconds. He removed the tourniquet before he pulled the needle out. That way she wouldn't feel it.  
He sealed it and labeled it. "You're still good? Now we're moving on to the larger containers."  
Jane once again looked on as Vandal prepared the bag, connected it to the tube and the needle and then put it on the stand next to the chair. She was more at ease this time, when she should be terrified of what was about to happen. "I'm good. I'm more ready than the first time."  
He followed protocol and changed his gloves out for the next round. Repeating all the previous steps.  
"Once the needle is back in, it will take a few minutes until the bag is full," Vandal explained. "We can talk more while we wait."  
"Sure."  
He used the same vein as he had before, but intending to puncture it at a spot slightly above the the first. "Same deal as before," he grinned. "Breathe."  
She did, turning away once more. Like before, he drove the needle in. "There we go. Don't move your arm too much and you're good."  
He moved away from her again and leaned against the counter opposite to her. She watched as her blood ran into the bag, slowly but steadily filling it.  
He would take more than he needed to for the second time. She was small and relatively lightweight if he took enough she would not be able to get up without getting dizzy and was certain to faint. He would then strap her down and wait for her to regain consciousness. That was when the real fun would begin. What did they say? Third time's the charm? How right they were.  
"Do you read?" Jane wanted to know. "I've read so many books, I don't even remember them all."  
"I'm not much of a reader, no. I prefer watching stuff," he answered. Stuff like this. He checked the bag again. Her blood flow was pretty good.  
"Pity. Reading's relaxing, especially when it's quiet." She smiled at him.  
He smirked. Relaxing? Absolutely not. "How can something where you actively have to use your brain, be relaxing? I'd rather just turn it off after my shift. Reading's hard work."  
"Ah, I see." She shrugged. "If you ever change your mind about that, I can recommend a few good books."  
"That's very unlikely to happen," he replied. It was one hundred percent not going to happen. "Last book I read was in high school, because they forced us."  
"I bet that's why you dislike it so much. I remember having high school's swimming classes doing that to me," she said.  
He was slowly getting tired of talking. He could feel he was getting impatient. He forced the feeling down and answered, "I guess that could be it." He wished he could make the bag fill faster. "How are you feeling so far?" he inquired.  
Jane looked at the blood running out of her and then at him. "So far, fine. I'm not feeling lightheaded."  
The bag wasn't all that full yet. If he had to, he would let it fill close to overflowing. He really wanted her to faint. It would save him time. And it would make what was going to happen after, a lot more interesting.  
"Good." It really wasn't. If she didn't pass out he would have to make use of sedatives. He would like to avoid choking her. It would take the fun out of it. He had already decided that he didn't necessarily want to cause her physical harm. He would enjoy messing with her head, far more. He was sure she would break extremely quickly under physical pain. She looked quite fragile now that he thought of it.  
"So you got anything planned for after work?" Jane asked.  
"Eat and sleep," he laughed.  
"Exciting."  
"Jup." He gave her another smile and secretly hoped that his eyes didn't give away that he was getting bored. Time seemed to crawl. Why was this taking so long? He needed to distract himself, so he spoke, "Do you have pets?"  
Her face lit up. It was a definite yes. "I own a Himalayan cat. His name is Theodore."  
"Long name for a cat," he chuckled. "It sounds nice though."  
"Yes," she smiled. "Do you own any?"  
He shook his head. "No. And I hadn't really planned on owning one anytime soon either." He once again eyed the blood bag. It had finally, thankfully filled enough that she would probably feel dizzy if she stood up. Another minute or two and he could seal it. He informed her, "You're almost through with your very first donation. How's your head?"  
"Starting to feel a bit weird, but not too bad," she let him know.  
That's what he liked to hear. "If that's the case, let me prep something for you, in case it gets worse. It'll help if you also feel nauseous as well." He turned away and pulled a bottle from the drawer, then got a glass of water to dissolve the pills in. If she wouldn't faint, he was going to overdose her on Rohypnol so that she would go into a state of automatism where she had no conscious control over her actions anymore. It would also cause her to forget what had happened during that period. The bloodsuckers wouldn't care if the blood was contaminated with the drug. They would drink it anyway. "What did you say your blood type was?" He hadn't asked yet, but he was sure Jane wouldn't notice.  
"O Rhesus negative," she replied.  
Lovely thing. Rare. He would put a few bags of her into the hospital's supply if it was clean.  
He picked up a pressure dressing and walked back over to her. Up close he could see that some of the color from her face had drained and that there was a bit of cold sweat on her forehead, though Jane didn't seem to notice herself.  
He removed the tourniquet and pulled out the needle. He sealed the blood bag and continued to put on the pressure dressing. "Okay, we're done. Take my hand and try to stand up." Everything he was doing now was a breach of protocol. She was supposed to stay seated for a while longer and have something to drink and eat. Her blood pressure would be too low to pump enough oxygen to her brain. She would go out cold before she even knew what was happening.  
Her hand was slightly shaking when she took his. He had been right to wait a minute longer. This was perfect.  
Vandal kept his expression clean of emotions. She rose to her feet and as soon as she was upright, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. He caught her immediately, let her slip back down into the chair and tilted her head back so she could breathe. He started strapping her down.  
This was going to be so much fun. He grinned. And this time, it was a cruel, cold one.  
He layed out a row of blood bags on the counter behind him. Jane would not be out for long. A few minutes, tops. He couldn't wait for her reaction when she regained consciousness again. It would be brilliant.  
He got a new needle and tube. A longer needle, thicker too. He was going to tap into one of her arteries later. For now, he would have fun.  
He had left a space between the bags for him to sit on the counter. He leaned onto his knees with his elbows and kept his eyes trained on her face. She was already twitching. His grin widened.  
Jane came to with a start. "Oh, I think I-" She broke off mid sentence. She stared at Vandal whose face had now completely changed. She tried to raise her arms and couldn't. She looked down. "What?" She looked back at Vandal again and he saw the confusion in her eyes, followed by fear, then disapproval. "Vandal? Why am I strapped down? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke? Because I don't think it's funny."  
Oh, this was already so, so good. Poor Jane thought this was all a bad joke. That she would walk out of here and they would have a laugh at this later. Of course, he was having fun at her expense right now. He said, "Welcome, to your alternate universe. Where you will be parting with all your blood."  
"Oh man, come on! This is seriously not funny. Let me out of the restraints, please!" She wasn't pleading. She was getting angry. She pulled at them, tried to twist her hands out of them. Nothing worked. He had strapped her down so tightly that she would never be able to undo them herself.  
Vandal replied and his voice was cold, but it held a flicker of amusement. "I think it's a pretty good show, so far."  
She took a breath. "Okay, fine. You've had your fun. Now please, let me out."  
"I don't think so, Jane." He looked into her eyes. He was waiting for the realization to hit her. "You're not leaving here." There was a flicker of doubt. She was starting to doubt this was just a prank. "You'll be going to sleep. Forever." He watched as the doubt in her eyes grew and slowly turned to fear. She had not thought of screaming yet.  
"No, no, no. Shit! Are you fucking kidding me? This has got to be a prank. What the hell?" Her voice held equal measures of panic and irritation.  
He sensed something click into place in Jane's head. She screamed at the top of her lungs, "Phil?! ANYBODY? HELP!!"  
He watched her scream her throat raw. When she was done he told her, "No one is coming. Nobody is going to hear you scream either. Besides, Phil is my accomplice."  
She didn't want to believe it. He saw it. She wanted to desperately hold onto the idea that this was all a bad joke. She was searching the room for anything that indicated that this was not real. He would now burn that denial out of her mind. "Jane," he said sharply. She was pulling at the restraints again, throwing her head wildly.  
"Jane!" Vandal hissed coldly. "Look at me!"  
Her blue-green eyes snapped to him. He looked into them.  
"You are going to die in here," he spoke.  
He saw it. The spark of terror in her eyes. The realization that she was never going to get out of here. It morphed into defeat and finally sadness.  
He had never in all his time seen anyone give up this quickly. This was usually the point where they would start fighting even harder. She on the other hand, had already accepted her death.  
He looked on as the tears rolled from her eyes. He had thought that she would maybe start pleading with him, but even that she didn't. He had broken her in a matter of minutes. He had broken her with one final statement.  
Jane balled her fists, took a deep breath, then another. She was trying to calm herself down. He kept observing her.  
She raised her head again. She wasn't going to fight. He could see as well as feel it. She had arrived at some strange neutral state with a hint of sadness and a hint of fear left. "I didn't think I'd die like this... I'm scared. I hope it doesn't hurt too bad. Were you planning on torturing me first?"  
Vandal was silent for a moment. This turn of events was something so different from what usually happened.  
"No, I wasn't going to lay a hand on you other than to tap into your artery to completely drain you," he answered clinically.  
"Will it hurt?" she breathed.  
"You will pass out within approximately 30 seconds to a minute, give or take," he smiled. "I wasn't lying when I said you were going to go to sleep forever. You'll get dizzy and everything will fade to black. You'll be dead in a few minutes. You won't regain consciousness once you're out."  
"Guess there's worse ways to die," she said.  
He didn't understand why she wasn't fighting. Her initial outburst had been fun to watch. It was beyond his comprehension why she'd just given up immediately. Was she really so weak? Not that he really cared.  
"There are," he spoke drily. "Out of curiosity. Why are you not fighting me? This is neither the first nor the last time I'll be doing this and usually they're kicking and screaming until they pass out from exhaustion."  
"What's the point? It's better like this. I know I'm too weak to overpower you. Even if I fought, it's a waste of my time, probably yours as well," she answered, bitter. "I think I just want to get this over with before I start feeling anything again."  
This had been over before it even started, Vandal thought. Easiest hunt in all his time. He was 'almost' disappointed.  
He shrugged. "Can be arranged." He went over to the counter and picked up the needle, tube and first bag. "Any last requests from my surprisingly docile participant?" he smirked.  
"Hold my hand," she whispered.  
He thought he hadn't heard right. "Excuse me? What?"  
"I want you to hold my hand until I'm passed out. Please!" Jane cried. She sounded desperate.  
He walked over and placed the equipment on the stand next to her. "I'm sorry. I don't think I understand 'why' you'd want that." This was the strangest thing he'd ever heard.  
"So I don't feel like I died alone... To feel like someone was there, at least once..." Jane's words were barely more than a whisper.  
Vandal blinked. "Well, okay. I'll hold your hand. That's easy."  
"Thank you."  
He would never comprehend this. He understood people begging for their lives, he understood them fighting for their lives, he did not understand Jane Doe. She had simply accepted death and was now embracing it. It was like she had had almost no will to live in the first place...  
He met no resistance when he reached for her arm and pressed his index and middle finger down on it hard enough to feel the throbbing of her artery underneath them.  
She wasn't trying to headbutt him, she wasn't kicking, nothing. She just sat there, looking a bit nervous, maybe a bit scared.  
When he had found the spot he was going to insert the needle, he disinfected the area. He didn't feel like he was murdering someone. Even though he was.  
"Needle insertion is going to hurt a bit," he told her in a neutral tone. He checked if everything was connected again and when he had he continued. "I'll do my best not to miss."  
Jane turned her head away and closed her eyes. "Just don't forget to hold my hand. Can you go on 1? I'll count you down."  
She was scared; he heard it in her voice.  
"Fine." He brought the needle to her skin right underneath his fingers. He had the steady throb of her pulse. He wouldn't miss. "3. 2." He heard Jane breathe in. "1." He pushed the needle through her skin, and Jane cried out in pain. Her blood was gushing out of her into the bag with every beat of her heart. Her breathing suddenly quickened. He took her hand, and she turned her head to look into his eyes. She was still breathing way faster than normal. She was grasping his hand tighter now, trying to anchor herself to him. He undid the restraints on her arm that he hadn't tapped into, just to see what would happen. If it would make her start fighting again with one last effort. But she did nothing. She just kept looking at him. As the blood quickly drained from her, her breathing shallowed out. She started smiling and placed her second hand over his. She spoke almost too quiet for him to hear. "Goodbye, Vandal..."  
"Goodbye, Jane," he answered. She squeezed his hand.  
A few more moments passed, and she was starting to slip into unconsciousness before her eyes rolled back into her head.  
Vandal moved away and turned his attention to changing out the blood bags, trying not to make too much of a mess. Carefully trying to spill as little as possible. As her heartbeat weakened the bags filled slower, and before long it had stopped. He sealed the last bag and removed the needle from the now dead Jane.  
He put her body to the floor and checked her pockets for personal belongings.  
Nothing. She hadn't carried a wallet, ID, not even money, nor a key to her apartment. There was nothing in her jeans.  
He checked the front pocket of her sweater. It held a single folded piece of paper.  
He unfolded it. It read:  
Please, someone hold my hand.  
I give up.  
Vandal looked from the note to Jane again, with a quiet smile on his lips. "Well, it seems like we both got what we wanted..."  
He looked around the room. There was a bit of blood on the floor, but not too much. It would be quick to clean up. Tonight had been one of the cleanest, fastest hunts he'd had.  
He was pleased with himself. Pleased with Jane. And for a few moments, the world seemed all right to him.  
He brought her body to the morgue and locked it in. He sat down in front of the computer in the next room, hacked into the system and started typing. He would leave a memento in the hospital records of her.  
He wrote:  
Jane Doe. Subject apparently died of indeterminate causes. Note: Subject's body contained only a pint of blood. Foul play suspected.  
Now, the only thing left to do was storing her blood away.  
It had been clean. Vandal eyed the bags lovingly when he returned.  
He didn't quite know why he did it, but he donated half of her to the hospital.  
He put the bags away, stretched and let the few more moments of peace that he had fill him, before he had to go back to hell.  
He took a long, deep breath. He counted from three to one and then he stepped out of his haven.  
He would make Phil scrub the floor. Just to see some of Jane again.


	2. Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this ending, Vandal finds an ID and a key to her apartment instead of the note. He decides to go there the same night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my opinion, this is just as bad as the original ending, just in a different way.

After telling Phil to clean the back room, Vandal left for Jane’s apartment. She lived downtown, or well at least she used to. Now her home was the cold chamber in the morgue where he had left her.

His car was parked in the parking garage. He got in and checked her ID again. It wasn’t all that far. Probably a 40 minute drive. He turned on the radio, typed the address into the GPS on his phone and started his little road trip.

‘Hello LA, you’re up way past your bedtime. I hope you slipped into something comfortable, I know I have. If you’re new to town, or just new to this whole radio thing. You’re listening to The Deb of Night. The only girl who will spend the night with you and leave first thing in the morning, guaranteed...’

Vandal had always wondered if Deb was in fact kindred and hired to keep the Masquerade, or if she was just a ghoul. He liked listening to her either way. Most of the time her callers were complete morons. One of the frequent callers however, a guy named Gomez, was the best of them. He called every night without fail. He always came up with conspiracy theories and he wondered where this guy got his info from.

For a while he listened, the radio show only interrupted by the occasional directions from his GPS.

‘Money troubles? Need cash quick? Why not try mugging someone? These are exactly the questions the criminals are asking themselves right now! Did you know that the government requires you to wait ten days for a gun? Why in that time a criminal could kill your family fifty times over! So how does a law-abiding citizen like yourself get a theft deterrent system in their hands in the next hour? Come to Loophole Lenny's! We've got antique military weaponry, from blunderbusses to World War 1 grenades. Modern muggers may be stronger and faster than they used to be, but that doesn't mean they can take a slug fired by a civil war era pistol any better. And if you're the kind of person that can't sleep at night, knowing that serial rapists might be in your front yard. We've got German sniper rifles approved by the Kaiser himself that'll make picking them off, one by one, from the safety of your roof no problem. Buy a weapon this month and we'll throw in an ammo belt with the constitution printed on it, free of charge. Loophole Lenny's, defending your tomorrow with the weapons of yesterday, today!’

Vandal laughed out loud at the advertisement. That was hilarious. He might even go there, just for fun.

For a while after the advertisements were over, the station played some music. Some of the songs they played he actually liked and the drive felt shorter than it actually was.

Before long, he took another turn indicated by the GPS and then got the announcement that his destination was on the left side.

He got out and locked his car. As he moved to the complex and checked the door bells he took note that her apartment was on the 3rd floor. He took the stairs up to it.

He was expecting to find it filled with moving boxes, since she had said that she had just moved here. Ironically, as he had first thought she had given him a false name, she hadn’t. Her full name was Mary Jane Doe.

He entered the apartment and was immediately greeted by her cat.

He closed the door and hunched down. “Hey Theodore. Your mommy won’t be coming home again, you know,” he smiled. “I’ll make sure you get a new one.” He had already made up his mind who he’d bring it to. “You’ll get a lot of expensive food there, I’m sure.” He petted Theodore and rubbed him behind his ear. “You’re just as trusting as your owner used to be,” he chuckled, before getting back up.

He had been right. The apartment was filled to the brim with moving boxes. He made his way to the living room first, just to find it almost empty safe for a TV, a sofa and unfilled book shelves.

The only sensible place to check now, was her bedroom. He didn’t even know what, or if he was looking for something, other than the carrier he was sure she had for Theodore.

It turned out to be the only room without moving boxes in it. The only one that looked like she hadn’t just moved here and was still unpacking. Books were placed neatly on the shelves, and she had painted one of the walls in a midnight blue shade. Or maybe that was how her predecessor had left it. The room was held simple. There were no decorations, but on her desk lay a sketchbook and a letter. To him the letter seemed off.

He went over and picked it up.

‘To whomever reads this. My name is Mary Jane Doe, or well it was, since I am probably now no longer alive. I just moved here recently, but even after coming here, I still feel like nothing’s ever gonna change. I’m giving it one last try. I’m going to the club in Santa Monica, and if anyone talks to me, I won’t jump. If no one wants to hold my hand through this, then I know I’m not worth it after all. That the world will be better off without me. So, to the Cop who probably is reading this right now: Please if you ever find someone sitting alone, looking sad, talk to them so that they don’t end up like me. I wasn’t strong enough to ask for help, because it scared me… At any rate. Please somebody make sure my cat, Theodore, will get a nice new home. Everything else, I don’t care about. So, I guess this is it. Goodbye world. My life is now in its people’s hands. And I have a feeling they will let me down.’

He felt strange after he was done reading Jane’s letter. He couldn’t tell what the faint feeling was, but he felt the slightest sting in his chest. He pocketed the letter, then opened her sketchbook.

It was filled with doodles. All of them as disturbing as the things he had in his head constantly. One of them was of what was probably meant to be Jane, screaming, her head filled with text and images and next to it, she had scribbled ‘Make it all stop’.

He pocketed the sketchbook as well and continued to look for Theodore’s carrier and finally found it hidden behind a moving box.

After he had put him in, he wiped down everything he had touched in the apartment and then left, unseen by anyone.

Now all he had left to do as drop off Theodore at Mercurio’s. He couldn’t wait to see his face when he showed up.

 


End file.
